


She's Sick of Commercials

by adrezarach



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire & Related Fandoms, A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: F/M, Game of Thrones - Freeform, Implied Petyr Baelish/Sansa Stark, Modern Westeros, Modern verse, Petyr Baelish - Freeform, Sansa Stark - Freeform, Sansa Stark Protection Squad, Seb Grimm this is so for you, Slice of Life, Trash I Tell You, a song of ice and fire - Freeform, adrezarach, and project runway jr, game of thrones modern verse, i have not visibly done fan stuff in a long time, i won't lie i would like people to read, my dudes i have not written... what qualifies as fanfic in a long while, ooh yay this is my first publication!, people put cool stuff in the tags right????, peytr's cat, project runway junior, there are cats, wait do i mean petey bagelfish?, why the hell is this fluffy this ship is TRASH, zenaga
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-03-21
Updated: 2017-03-21
Packaged: 2018-10-08 14:53:42
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 957
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10389276
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/adrezarach/pseuds/adrezarach
Summary: It's been weeks since the King died, and Sansa's in hiding. The apartment feels empty without him... and she can't skip commercials until her host comes home.





	

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Zenaga](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Zenaga/gifts), [Nerves](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Nerves/gifts).



> Holy Shit, y'all.
> 
> This is the first piece of stand-alone(ish) fanfic I have written in a very long time. It is definitely the first I've posted for four years- and that was posted on fanfiction.net. How I've grown. 
> 
> Enjoy!

She's surprised by the things that stay the same during wartime.

The news broadcasts are more frequent, reporters from each of the kingdoms checking in on the hour. Sansa remembers meeting a few of them at the Red Keep Correspondents Dinner. She had danced with the Dornish newsman twice. The Northern news team had long since been executed, replaced by a group of Lannister loyalists. Real time updates scroll past the bottom of the screen, numbers of dead and battles declared in block letters.

But the shows do not stop. Law & Order in all its incarnations- Dorne, King's Landing, and all the other ones- still airs new episodes. Sex and the Crownlands reruns can always be found. Project Runway: Junior has a new season airing, with one of Cersei's favorites judging. Sansa remembers Taena of Myr, dark haired and well dressed. Seeing her on the television screen had been horrifying, that first time.

Old Nan had called her a sweet summer child. She realized a long time ago she was, and yet, somehow, the world moves forward. Episodes air, the sun rises and sets, the cat's litter box is emptied, and she survives.

It's the semi-final of Project Runway: Junior, and Sansa watches with bated breath. This episode had clearly been filmed a few months previously, back when the Royal Wedding was still an event on the horizon. Members of Margaery's posse model dresses both opulent and understated.

(Sansa knows which one she likes best: silk with appliqué embroidery, tea length with a handkerchief organza skirt.)

The cat sits on the cushion next to her, spread out and napping. She doesn't think she's ever seen a cat sleep so much. The ones Arya brought around always seemed to be alert, running and pouncing on everything that moved. They'd scratched her father more than once as he tried to shepherd them out of Arya's room.

"You have a wolf," he'd say. "We don't need cat hair on top of everything else." Her father pretended not to like the cats, but Sansa couldn't help but notice how fondly he treated them, how-even after he'd banished them from the house- he always left food at the door to the courtyard.

She doesn't like to remember those kinds of things. Whenever she does, it's the image of his head on a spike that surfaces.

So she watches as the cat sleeps, knees tucked to the side as she rests her head on the arm of the couch. It feels as though all she does is rest, these days. The apartment isn't tiny, but it's minimalistic. She can't use the computer while her host is at work- those near and dear to royalty are monitored, and she can't risk it. She can't leave the apartment to use the pool or the amenities that come with the building- she's too recognizable. It feels like all she can do is watch the television and read her host's limited supply of books. Sansa is sick of it.

On the screen, Taena says something about the fit of Sansa's favorite designer's dress. She's not playing close enough attention to remember exactly what it was, but it sounded biting. The fifteen year old is trying not to cry, blue eyes blinking back tears as he focuses on the ground. He reminds her a bit of Rickon. She wants to cry again.

The image of those burned bodies onscreen is not something she likes to remember. Father. Mother. Lady. Bran. Rickon. The dead bodies of her family plaster the news. Red blood on red hair. It's only slightly easier to think of Arya and Jon. They well may be dead, but Sansa doesn't know. Newscasts broadcasted news of Arya's death a few weeks after their father's, but she knows it's a lie. It feels wrong for a lie to give hope, and yet it surrounds her with those surviving threads of optimism she tried to push away long ago.

She can't skip the commercials (if the apartment is being monitored, she can't do much that would be impossible were no one home) and she so desperately wants to. It's been weeks since what the news calls "The Purple Wedding," and still there's at least one notice with her face on it.

"Have you seen them?" Words are plastered over the faces of suspects. Hers included. For some reason, they'd picked a picture from her wedding. Sansa doesn't know whether it makes her hate the ad more, or not.

She can hear the distant sound of the elevator opening and immediately her heart jumps into her throat. It is unpleasant and familiar all at once. The cat stares lazily at her as she rolls to the floor and moves as quietly as she can towards the laundry closet. There's a place behind the dryer, half of a false wall, where she hides and waits. Everyday the same, without getting any easier.

Every second feels an hour- long minutes pass slowly. She hears nothing odd in the various sounds as the apartment is unlocked. There is no trample of feet as an individual enters the apartment. The owner of the footsteps nears the door- and knocks. Three times. Sansa sighs in relief as she stands to open the door. The man, her host, greets her with a smile. She steps out into the corridor, blue eyes blinking twice against the fluorescent lights.

"Petyr," she speaks, the smile on her face not doing a whit to disguise her raw emotion. Relief, happiness, and what might be contentment wrap her self-hardened heart in warmth. "You're home."

Through the corner of her eye, she can see not-Rickon being declared safe and leaving the stage.

As Petyr moves a step closer, she feels safe.

**Author's Note:**

> Ok, so for context this is a little slice-of-life thing from my friend Seb's and my larger au. It is very Petey/Sans, as we are professional trash. Our modern au is set in a modern Westeros- technology, tv stations, fancy apartments, and all. Keeping Up With the Kardashians could maybe be??? Keeping Up With the Karstarks or something.  
> Side note, I may've released a demon. Help.  
> Back to context, Dontos took Sansa to rendezvous with Peytr, was promptly murdered, and Sansa has been hiding in Petey's apartment since.  
> Since Seb didn't text me back in time, the working name for the cat is Prospero. 
> 
> Comments would be cool and y'all are cool.


End file.
